Where She Hears Me Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Where she hears me,
Nonchalantly,
Is where the waves crash upon
The lithe shores.
Where the gulls convolute their tracks,
And leave vacuous spaces
For the sea waters to gorge
With ambivalent hatred.
And this is where she hears me.

In the spaces between the shore,
The supple veneer of the wave’s borders,
And the trembling trenches,
Where my howls billow and compel
The whole sea to whirl in despair,
This is where she hears me.

Golden-plucked muse
A hot, singeing ember from the aeon’s kiss,
Hear me in another place
Where the breeze is stark, and the people
Are lackluster in their grueling drudgeries.
Occupy my spaces, and do not utter
A single word of blasé supplication -
Only hear me, and that is enough
To pass yourself unto me,
In an infinite conversation
Of two people talking with eyes,
And not with peculiar mouths.

And that
Is to pass me on to the ethereal pastures
Where the waves do not efface the epitaphs
On the sand,
And the horizon cascades to the sea’s lucid face
Almost close enough that if the sea
And the horizon were two serendipitous lovers,
They could have kissed each other intimately
That the whole world would burst in flames.

But the odds and the obscured chances
Are but away from the mundane.
Lest shall I continue to hope and pray,
Kneeling before the gulls,
Sleeping before the sea’s mazy mirage,
And washed-up, muted juxtaposed
To the shores that are nigh
My cumbersome body seethes with acquiescence,
And so I pray adamantly
That the sea and the horizon meet
In a twist and susurration of two little mouths
Tethering each other, with no words said.

Only little breaths heard
That signify life.